


My Kind of Love

by wicked3659



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-27
Packaged: 2018-01-12 08:09:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1183920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wicked3659/pseuds/wicked3659
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jazz only knows Prowl as his uptight professor in the academy, until one cycle he leaves unexpectedly. The next time he re-enters Jazz's life, his life is turned upside down.  Permanently.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Academy Life

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vejiraziel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vejiraziel/gifts).



> Written originally for Vejiraziel on Livejournal. 
> 
> This will be in 3 parts. 
> 
> Part 1 is for the Prompt: Love is a battlefield for the prowlxJazz community valentines challenge on Livejournal. 
> 
> The age difference between Jazz and Prowl isn't as big as you think.
> 
> Song lyrics used in the fic are from - Emile Sande's 'My Kind of Love'

Life was good. Laughing with his friends, enjoying the night life Iacon had to offer, relaxing by the molten pools in the city centre. Sometimes, Jazz didn’t think life could get better. He had good friends, his studying days were nearly over and the future looked bright and musical. He was going to follow in his creators’ footsteps. He and his friends were going to set up a band and become performers, dancers, musicians. This was the life. Jazz hadn’t wanted for much growing up, he hadn’t been the richest mech in the Academy but his charisma and winning smile had earned him an entourage of friends who hung on his every word, followed him everywhere, laughed at his jokes and more than one openly found him attractive.

 

Less than a solar cycle away from graduating; Jazz was relaxed. He’d not done too badly with his studies so graduating his finals would be a breeze. He wasn’t worried. Right now he was too busy lazing on the Academy grounds after hours, sharing some sneakily procured high grade with his closest friends. The academy was a home away from home. During the terms, Jazz lived and studied and played quite freely among its walls. He and his friends didn’t really rate the teachers that highly, as far as they were concerned they were all part of the problem, the ruling body that tried to control their lives, make them sign up to the army and fight.

 

Why would they ever need to fight? Iacon wasn’t under threat, who would dare attack the home of the Prime of Cybertron? Jazz thought to himself, thinking back to the last lecture one of their stricter teachers had endowed upon them earlier that cycle. This was precisely why they were currently hanging out blatantly in the college grounds sharing stolen high grade. Feeling the liquid buzz through his circuits, Jazz smirked and laughed at something his friend muttered about that teacher he’d just been thinking about.

 

“Hey we should have some fun!” Backlight grinned devilishly, nudging Jazz as he got unsteadily to his feet.

 

“Yeah? What you thinkin’ mech?” Jazz drawled, not in too much of a hurry to get up just yet.

 

“That glitch… let’s prank him, c’mon!” Backlight was already up and jogging back into the building, dragging the others with him. Half laughing, half groaning in pre-emptive regret, Jazz pushed himself up, wobbling a little before running after his friend.

 

Losing them in the darkened corridors of the school, Jazz called out Backlight’s name with a frown as he slowed to a walk through the main school. His sensitive audio picked up a faint kafuffle and a sharp yelp. Feeling panic rising, Jazz rushed to the source and stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of Backlight laughing his plating off at the sight of the thick crude oil covering their statistician professor. Jazz’s mouth fell open in shock at the sight of the mech as he flicked his doorwings, sending oil splattering to the floor.

 

Meeting Jazz’s bright visor the teacher let out a low, barely audible growl and grabbed hold of Backlight before the overly charged mech knew what was happening and pointed at Jazz and his other two friends - who could only stare at the sight – with a sharp glare. “Back to your dorm, now.”

 

Glancing at Backlight who shot him a confused look through hazy optics, Jazz gave a half sparked shrug and dragged the others away before the professor changed his mind. “C’mon, mechs… let’s go.

 

The next cycle, Jazz felt a growing weight of dread as he headed for that very professor’s class. Peeking into the room, he frowned as the principle of the academy greeted him with a smile and shooed him inside. “Come now, Jazz. Don’t have all cycle to wait for you to finish gawping.”

 

“Sir… what happened to professor Prowl?”

 

The principle turned and waved him to his seat. “In a klik, Jazz. Sit.” Waiting for the students to sit, the principle cleared his vents before speaking. “As some of you may already be aware, Backlight has been suspended. He will not be graduating with the rest of you.” At the sudden uproar and protest from Jazz and his friends; the principle maintained his cool and held up his hand until they’d finished. “Professor Prowl has also unfortunately had to be granted leave and so from next cycle you will be having a substitute. This cycle this class is cancelled, use your time wisely, dismissed.”

 

With that the principle was gone, the students filed out and Jazz immediately fell in with his friends currently all ranting about Backlight’s ‘unfair’ suspension. All Jazz could think about was the image of his professor covered in black crude oil, staining his normally pristine plating, splattered onto his unsmiling face and couldn’t help but feel somewhat guilty that their stupid prank had driven him out of the school. He was a strict, humourless mech but he had been a decent professor. Nobody in Jazz’s mind deserved embarrassing like that.

 

****

_I can't buy your love, don't even wanna try._

_Sometimes the truth won't make you happy, so I'm not gonna lie._

_But don't ever question if my heart beats only for you, it beats only for you._

****

The rest of the solar cycle went relatively uneventfully. Jazz found he had to knuckle down in some of his more challenging classes like statistics or he was in more danger of not graduating than he’d first thought. His creators hadn’t been pleased to receive the news and started to instill some order into their mechling’s overly social existence. Curfews were imposed and discipline became harsher. Jazz rebelled more often than not but he did try to study as much as he could until he got bored. He knew, accepted at even his young age, his creators weren’t trying to make his life a misery, they only wanted the best for him and in Iacon getting the best meant you had to have an education. That’s just the way things were.

 

The academy weren’t without providing opportunities for their new graduates, the last few cycles following finals, seminars, workshops were held from various industry representatives. Jazz only really had one interest and that was music and performing. He had made this explicitly clear but his creators, even though they were musicians themselves advised him to have a contingency, something to fall back on, just in case. Jazz had sulked but had conceded their logic so today he was wandering around the latest seminar with his friends.

 

Strolling past the stalls and various recruitment drives, Jazz felt boredom creeping over him. Nothing interested him, no trade, no menial factory work. It just wasn’t him. He wasn’t the brightest mech that ever was but even he knew he could do more with himself. His friends lead by Backlight who had taken to deriding each stall as a member of the corporate wheel trying to make them conform – despite the fact he wouldn’t be graduating for another half a solar cycle – got distracted by one of the craft stalls. Many of them were fairly artistic and that’s where their interests lay. Jazz on the other hand caught the sound of someone speaking through a door which was slightly ajar.

 

Slipping inside into the dark auditorium, Jazz found the place semi-full with many faces he recognised. A mech was giving a presentation on the war he’d heard rumours about. Joining the Autobots, the career possibilities, the benefits. The honour. Scoffing to himself quietly, thinking it was typical of the army to appeal to their sense of patriotism. Manipulative. Jazz made to leave before the mech giving the presentation ended his talk and turned up the lights. Stopping as the mech asked any questions, Jazz’s visor flickered in recognition of the speaker.

 

Had he missed the memo? Or had he not been paying attention when it was announced that their former professor would be giving a talk on the army? Likely both, but still Jazz was surprised. Prowl had been a stiff, rigid, no fun, boring statistician professor, what was he doing recruiting for the army? As Prowl answered every question thrown at him by the potential young new recruits, Jazz’s curiosity grew. Plus he still felt bad for driving him out in the first place.

 

Prowl finished the talk and gestured to the booth where he would be taking names. Jazz milled about with the crowds, cleverly weaving his way to the front to stand at the desk where Prowl was busy populating a data pad with names.

 

“Professor Prowl?” He asked hesitantly, his surprise increasing when the mech looked up at him, removing a pair of magnetic tinted sight glasses from his face to study him with those icy blue optics.

 

“Jazz.”

 

Slag. He remembered. “Look about what happened that cycle, he really didn’t mean any harm it was just a prank, he was still bruising after the lecture and well,” he laughed nervously. “You know how us young uns’ get.”

 

Prowl regarded him coolly and merely raised an orbital ridge at the younger mech. “Indeed.” Replacing his glasses as he looked back to his data pad, Prowl was all business. “Have you come to recruit to the Autobot army, Jazz?”

 

“I ah… hadn’t really—um… s’not really my thing you see, I’m a singer and—“

 

“—It’s not really anybody’s thing, Jazz.” Prowl interrupted him calmly. “Here. If you have any questions I’ll be in my old classroom.” Giving a small nod, Prowl gestured for the next person to come forward and Jazz knew he’d been dismissed.

 

Holding the data sheet in his hands, Jazz frowned slightly as he looked through the various skills and opportunities becoming a member of the Autobots would offer him. Sighing as his friends caught up to him, Jazz stuffed the pamphlet into his subspace and allowed Backlight - who was currently glaring at Prowl and loudly protesting the war and killing others in the name of politics – to pull him away. “Come on, Jazz… you’re better than glitches like him.”

 

“Cool it, mech.” Jazz murmured softly. “He’s not a glitch. Just doing his job.”

 

“Hnghh, his job is forcing others into a life of servitude. Can’t trust mechs like him.”

 

Unbeknownst to Jazz, Prowl heard everything and his sharp optics watched Jazz curiously over the top of his protective lenses as the small mech shrugged off Backlight’s hand, clearly disapproving of his friend’s attitude. Maybe there was hope for the cocky, overconfident Polyhexian yet.

 

****

_I know i'm far from perfect, nothin' like your entourage_

_I can't grant you any wishes, I won't promise you the stars._

_But don't ever question if my heart beats only for you, it beats only for you_

****

“But—“

 

“—No buts. This is such a good opportunity for you, Jazz. Stop arguing with your sire. Why can’t you see we just want the best for you?”

 

The black and white pouted sullenly and folded his arms. “You’re asking me to turn my back on everything I believe in.”

 

Jazz’s sire laughed. “Believe in?” Shaking his helm the mech sighed wearily. “Jazz you’re barely a vorn old. What do you know about having principles, ideals and beliefs? You’ve had the best we could give you. Do you think we would’ve managed that if we hadn’t made sacrifices, changed some of what we believed, hm?”

 

Calming her mate down, Jazz’s creator touched the mech’s arm and gazed at Jazz sadly. “Please… at least consider it… think of the future it could give you, if not for us, for yourself.”

 

Jazz huffed and marched to his room. “What future? Joining the army is more likely to take any chance of a future from me. But clearly what I want doesn’t matter to you!” He slammed the door behind him before they could respond and flung himself onto his berth with a loud ex-vent. Throwing the pamphlet on the floor in a fit of temper, Jazz curled up, thoughts of his future prospects whirling around in his processor as he drifted into a restless recharge.

 

The next cycle, Jazz wandered through the academy. Graduation was looming and Jazz still hadn’t found any suitable prospects he was interested in. His creator had spoken to him later the previous evening and had simply expressed her concern for the field of work he did want to pursue. It wasn’t that she didn’t think he was talented or wouldn’t make it, she just wanted him to have something to fall back on, something to support him in hard times. Jazz had rolled his optics, what hard times? Iacon had never been so busy.

 

Little did he realise that the reason Iacon was busy was due to the influx of refugees from other less fortunate parts of Cybertron which were suffering from increasing unrest and violence.

 

Passing his old statistics room, Jazz caught sight of Prowl’s distinctive black and white frame. Walking determinedly past the room, he ground his denta when doubt crept into his processor. Halting and glaring back at the room accusingly, Jazz marched back and stepped through the door.

 

“Jazz.” Prowl stated simply, not looking up from his datapad.

 

“How did you know it was me?” Jazz asked with a frown.

 

Peering at the younger mech over the top of his lenses, Prowl was as stoic as ever. “You’re the only one I told that I would be here.”

 

Falling quiet, glancing at the door, Jazz hesitated. “How did you know, I would come?”

 

Removing the lenses from his face and placing them on the desk, Prowl straightened and put his datapad down. “I didn’t.”

 

Pursing his lip components, Jazz studied Prowl for a moment before asking; “Why did you leave? Was it because of what Backlight did?”

 

“No.” Prowl answered evenly. “The prank was a foolish mistake on his part which I’m certain he now regrets. I however had been called away on more important business.”

 

“The Autobots…”

 

“Correct.”

 

“You’re a teacher…”

 

“I am. I am also an officer in the Autobot army and I was before I became a teacher, my training actually provided me with the opportunity to become a teacher when there was less need for tacticians at Prime’s disposal.”

 

“You’re a tactician?” Jazz queried more curiously, sitting down on one of the nearby desks. “Is that why you had to leave?”

 

“It was. Not everywhere is as peaceful or protected as Iacon is, Jazz and the Autobot army needs all the help it can get.”

 

Jazz thought about this for a moment before his optics were drawn to the lenses on the desk. “I’ve never seen them before; did you used to wear them?”

 

Following his gaze, Prowl picked up the lenses. “I did not. My optics were damaged shortly after I was reassigned. I was caught in an explosion that was intended to decimate Prime’s tactical team.”

 

Jazz pulled a face. “Why didn’t you get them fixed?”

 

Meeting the younger mech’s gaze, Prowl stated softly. “There is no one available as of yet, to fix them.” Letting the words sink in for a few kliks, Prowl replaced the lenses, which magnetically adhered to his nasal bridge and resumed his reading of his data pad.

 

“What could I do…?” Jazz asked quietly after what seemed like an age.

 

“Do?”

 

“You know if I joined. What good would I be? I’m a musician, a singer, performer… m’not a fighter, Professor Prowl.”

 

Tilting his helm slightly, Prowl regarded Jazz with renewed interest. “Neither was I until I was trained. My talents were discovered and encouraged by the officers who taught me. You would receive the same attention and every mech is worth something, Jazz. You would make a difference in your own way.”

 

Nodding, brow furrowed in deep thought, Jazz got to his feet. “You’re not like I remember you.” He stated quietly. “But… you were always fair from what I can remember and so I am sorry for how we treated you.”

 

Watching Jazz leave, Prowl spoke up as he reached the door. “Jazz, if you change your mind. The transport for the new recruits leaves two cycles after graduation. Think about it.”

 

****

_Cause when you've given up._

_When no matter what you do it's never good enough._

_When you never thought that it could ever get this tough,_

_Thats when you feel my kind of love._

****

Graduation was the one event Jazz was looking forward to. All his friends were there, even Backlight had come to see them graduate, show his support. His creators had also turned up which Jazz was glad of, he hadn’t told them of his decision to go with Prowl, even though they’d recommended the Autobots, he had no doubt they would worry when they realised it meant leaving Iacon for a time.

 

The ones he wasn’t looking forward to telling were his friends. They had all agreed that war was wrong and they’d all promised to protest before the council once they’d graduate, try to get them to put more funding into the arts and the populace rather than funding the Autobot army. Jazz knew that telling them wasn’t going to be a pretty sight. Backlight especially was likely to kick up a fuss about his decision. The mech seemed to have a personal grudge against Prowl. Jazz could understand to an extent but they were nearly mechs themselves and being a laid-back spark, Jazz had decided to let it go. Backlight on the other hand derided Prowl whenever Jazz was within audio shot, ever since he’d caught Jazz talking to him during the recruitment drive. No, telling Backlight wasn’t going to be pretty at all.

 

“Jazz!” He looked up as his creators called him over, waving and smiling he headed over, wincing slightly as they both embraced him tightly, showering him with their pride and love.

 

“Quit it.” He whined, still smirking at his creators’ affections, their fight the cycle previous already long forgotten.

 

“We got you something.” Jazz’s sire began, glancing to his mate with a nervous smile.

 

“Aw, you didn’t have t’do that.” Jazz ducked his helm coyly.

 

“Nonsense. You’re our creation and you will have the best we can provide.” His sire insisted, chuckling as his bondmate practically bounced by his side.

 

“We’ve been saving for a while. I really hope you like it.”

 

“M’sure I’ll love whatever it is? Where is it?” Jazz looked around, hoping to have a reason to escape before his friends showed up and the truth came out.

 

“It’s at home. Your principal asked to speak with us.”

 

Jazz’s spark fluttered at that. “He did?”

 

“Mmhm. Oh here he is now.” Jazz’s sire gestured over to a mech approaching them. Jazz’s optics widened as he spied the familiar black and white frame of Prowl amidst the crowd, making his way over with the principle as they chatted amicably.

 

Feeling suddenly very self conscious, Jazz fell quiet, letting his creators do the talking. He tried to do his best to look entirely disinterested in the conversation until he heard his name and was forced to respond.

 

“Some of the professors were surprised by Jazz’s results. He really applied himself in the last few cycles.” The principle stated giving Jazz a small smile of approval. “I’m sure he’s told you of his plans to join the Autobot army. We’re very thrilled that he’s part put himself forward. Surprised me when, officer Prowl told me.”

 

Jazz wished the ground would open up and swallow him whole at that moment. He didn’t have to look at his creators to feel the shock emanating from them.

 

“He hadn’t mentioned it.” His creator spoke first, glancing at her creation with a bemused look. “Though he has mentioned you, officer Prowl. You were a professor here, yes?”

 

“I was.” Prowl gave Jazz’s creators a polite nod, stepping forward to greet them formally as he was addressed. “I would have expected him to have told you himself but he has undoubtedly been distracted by the graduation ceremony.” Jazz met Prowl’s cool gaze and nodded meekly, throwing his creators a nervous grin.

 

“Surprise…?”

 

From the ensuing silence, Jazz’s grin faded, not knowing whether his creators were pleased or mortified. This was what they’d wanted, why did they have to make things difficult? “I didn’t want you to worry you before the ceremony, m’sor—“

 

“—You have nothing to be sorry for, Jazz.” His sire spoke up firmly, his hand rested on his creation’s shoulder. “We… you just caught us by surprise that’s all.”

 

“You’re not mad?” Jazz asked softly.

 

His creators gathered around him and gave him a brief hug. “We’re not mad.”

 

Watching the scene unfold, Prowl spoke up once more. “I am aware of how difficult a decision it was for Jazz personally, he has made a responsible step towards his future, you should be proud of him.”

 

It wasn’t meant as a command or an instruction merely a statement of fact, but Jazz grinned a little at Prowl’s straight forward, blunt manner. Maybe it was all those cycles teaching but the mech just had a way of making everything he said sound like a command. His creators didn’t take offence though; they were more laid back than him and took Prowl’s blunt address in their stride.

 

“We’re very proud of him.” His sire replied with a smile.

 

“If a little worried.” His creator added, squeezing Jazz fondly. “At least we have a bit of time with you now though.” She added warmly.

 

Jazz grimaced at the words and looked to Prowl who – given his due – looked equally contrite.

 

“I’m afraid not.” Prowl started a little softer than before. “The transport for new recruits leaves next cycle. I apologise for the short notice but you can be assured Jazz will be taken care of.”

 

Jazz could feel the tension from his creators and didn’t have to look to feel the glare his sire was currently giving Prowl.

 

“I’m not happy about this, we should’ve been told well before a cycle before he leaves Iacon, maybe for good!”

 

“It’s not Prowl’s fault.” Jazz spoke up earnestly. “I decided a few cycles ago… I didn’t want to tell anyone, it’s bad enough my friends are going to be mad, I didn’t want to leave with us fighting. I should’ve told you…”

 

“Yes, you should have.” His creator scolded her optics bright with concern. “We should go.” She urged her mate, still casting a suspicious glare in Prowl’s direction. “If we’ve only got until next cycle,” she smiled fondly at Jazz. “I want to make the most of it.”

 

Nodding Jazz’s sire put his arm around his creation and gave Prowl and the principle a curt nod. “Come on, Jazz. Let’s get you your present.”

 

Prowl watched the younger mech leave with his creators giving them a sheepish shrug as he did so.

 

“I’m not sure if the army is the right place for him, Prowl. He seems far too… impulsive.” The principle mused mildly.

 

Not removing his gaze, Prowl replied thoughtfully. “He is more responsible than you think, besides; the Autobots could use mechs who think on their feet. If he applies himself, I have no doubt he will go far.”

 

“I’ll take your word for it, Prowl.” The principal stated mildly, not entirely convinced by the officer’s estimations of Jazz.

****

Jazz arrived home with his creators and instead of being barraged with several lectures like he expected, they both embraced him tightly and told him just how proud of him they were. Jazz knew they were worried though, he could see it in their optics, in their smiles, his leaving was going to be hard for them, but he’d be back soon enough, hopefully a full officer in the Autobot army, he’d make them proud and then come back and follow his dream of being a performer just like them.

 

“Let’s give you your present now.” His creator was saying excitedly, leading Jazz to their berth room.

 

His sire stepped inside first and tugged Jazz after him. Jazz stopped dead as his optics fell onto the armour standing proudly in the middle of their room. Circling it slowly, Jazz lightly stroked his fingers over the distinctive black and white lines, the smooth paint job over the chest and sensory panels! Small but wow he’d never had sensory panels. He’d been aware of the extra sensors in his back when his current frame pulled as his protoform grew but he’d never thought they would grow into sensory panels. His frame had supersonic speakers fitted, a very useful weapon/deterrent if necessary and also very cool for playing his music collection.  Looking at his creators, Jazz shook his helm in disbelief. “You shouldn’t have.”

 

“Don’t be ridiculous, Jazz. We can’t have our only sparkling going off to join the Autobots still in his mechling frame. You’re an adult now and we wanted to get you the best adult frame we could afford.” His sire replied proudly.

 

“Come on, let’s get it fitted.” His creator added excitedly.

 

Sometime later, after some tweaking and complaining from Jazz who did not like to stay still for long periods of time; the job was done. Looking himself up and down in the mirror, Jazz grinned. His protoform was still attaching to the newly fitted armour plating and soon his transformation coding would be updated by the nanites in his protoform. He couldn’t wait. He had to be patient though; it would be another cycle before his frame would be ready to test out the new transformation sequence. That was always his favourite part of getting an upgrade.

 

Looking back to his creators who were gazing at him warmly, adoration and sadness in their optics, he hugged them both, pleased to find he was slightly taller than his creator but on a par with his sire, even though his frame was below average size for a grounder. “I love it.” He stated, pulling back with a bright smile. “I look good.”

 

“Mm, ever the modest mech aren’t you, Jazz?” His sire quipped lightly. “Go on, go see your friends.”

 

“Thanks, I’ll be back later.” Jazz called out as he rushed off into the city to meet with his friends who’d arranged a graduation party. This would be where he would have to tell them his plans. They were his friends they deserved to know he wouldn’t be sticking around to help set up the band with them as they’d all agreed. Unable to transform, he sprinted to the school grounds where they’d agreed to meet. His new frame was light which he was pleased about, if there was one thing Jazz loved just as much as music, it was speed. Nothing on Cybertron was quite as exhilarating as speeding along the abandoned highways on the outskirts of the cities as fast as he was able. He couldn’t wait to try out his new alt mode there.

 

Reaching the school he stopped. He could hear music and see the crowds beginning to gather on the grounds. He wondered if they’d obtained permission or if it was one last flagrant disregard of the rules. Weaving his way through, Jazz enjoyed the looks and noises of approval he received at his new appearance.

 

“Backlight!” He called out, spying his group of friends a short way off from the main party. Heading over he waved and frowned a little when none of them waved back. “Hey, it’s a great party, right?” He started cheerfully, feeling a growing pang of concern when not one of them responded.

 

“Backlight, what’s going on?” Jazz asked with a frown.

 

“Huh, funny you should ask that, Jazz.” Backlight turned and regarded his friend coldly. “Why don’t you tell us, seeing as you’re the one coveting with the army.”

 

“How’d you—“

 

“—I SAW YOU!” Backlight snarled angrily, pointing his finger at Jazz’s chest. “I saw you at graduation talking with the principle and Prowl. Did the glitch manage to brainwash you after all?”

 

Glancing around at his friends’ stony faces, Jazz clenched his fists at his sides. “He’s not a glitch.” He growled, glaring at Backlight. “And my choices for the future have nothing to do with him.”

 

“No?”

 

“No!” Jazz stepped forward boldly. “I knew you’d do this. You’re incapable of being happy for me so you have to ruin what’s probably our last evening together before I have to leave. When have you amounted to anything in your fraggin’ life?”

 

Snorting in derision at his friend, Backlight shook his helm. “You can say a lot of things about me, Jazz but at least I stick to my principles and beliefs. You sold your spark down the slag heap and for what? A shiny new frame a pleasurebot could be proud of and a career prospect murdering other people?”

 

Shoving Backlight in anger, Jazz snarled back. “Shut it, you don’t know what you’re talking about!”

 

Backlight growled lowly and launched himself at Jazz sending them both tumbling to the ground in a mass of punching fists and flailing limbs. The others gathered around them amidst the chaotic din of urging shouts and hollers of encouragement.

 

The sirens in the school rang out, signalling the onsite security and Jazz felt himself being forcibly dragged from Backlight’s energon stained frame. Struggling against the security, Jazz kicked out and glared at his now former friend.

 

Backlight shrugged himself free; Jazz’s supposed friends holding him back as he wiped the energon streaming down his face. “Look at you.” He snorted derisively. “Already got energon on your hands. And here we thought you were our friend.”

 

Jazz stared helplessly as each and every one of his friends, gave him an admonishing glare before turning their backs on him and following Backlight storming off over the school grounds. Feeling the security release him, Jazz suddenly became aware of all the optics of the other graduates staring at him. Turning on his heel, Jazz caught sight of Prowl stood with the security and their optics met. Gritting his denta and shaking his helm at the mech angrily, Jazz shoved past the Praxian without a word and began to make his way home.

 

“Jazz, wait…” Prowl called out after him, catching up to the smaller mech easily. “Are you injured?” He asked quietly.

 

“No, mech. I’m not injured.” Jazz answered curtly.

 

Frowning slightly, sensing the animosity simmering beneath Jazz’s even tone, Prowl gave a small nod. “What your friends said—“

 

“—What they said is none of your business, officer Prowl.” Jazz met Prowl’s cool gaze with a hard one of his own. “I don’t want to talk about it. Least of all, with you. So is that all, or are there other ways you have in mind for fraggin’ up my life?”

 

Prowl didn’t really have a response to that and gave the younger mech a minute shake of his helm, before replying softly. “True friends who care about you will stand by your side even when they disagree with you, Jazz.”

 

Whirling around and squaring up to the taller mech, immediately forgetting his place and etiquette in his anger, Jazz snarled at the other black and white. “What do you know about friends?! Frag, why do you even care?! We treated you like slag! I’m not worth your time or your effort, officer Prowl. You should have left me alone to live my life the way I wanted to.” Shoving past Prowl, Jazz stormed off, calling back angrily over his shoulder. “Because of you, I’ve lost everything, might as well take my future too. You’ll learn you were wrong to put any faith in me, mech, you’ll see just what a waste of effort it’s been before too long, just like my former friends have.”

 

Watching him go with a faint look of regret that Jazz was suffering because in his mind the younger mech had made a brave decision, Prowl sighed softly. “You’ll learn, Jazz.” He answered softly, more to himself than to Jazz who was now too far away to hear him. “That I respectfully, disagree.”

 

****

_And when you're crying out._

_When you fall and then can't pick, you're heavy on the ground_

_When the friends you thought you had haven't stuck around._

_That's when you feel my kind of love._


	2. Army Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jazz learns to adjust to the army way of life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for prowl x Jazz valentine's challenge  
> Day 25; Prompt: Tumbling over the Edge.

It had been almost a stellar cycle since he’d been back to Iacon and Jazz had to admit he was feeling apprehensive. His training had been going well; he definitely enjoyed more of the practical training than the theory. His highest scores were in the strategic war games officer Ironhide organised. The gruff mech had taken Jazz under his wing, pushed him harder than the rest of his trainers – apart from Prowl, of whom Jazz had seen surprisingly little of – Jazz looked up to him, respected the older mech and unlike many of his fellow recruits recognised Ironhide’s unique brand of brutal humour, which he enjoyed. For the most part his training had gone well. Although still unranked, Jazz held the responsibility of being team leader for his group of recruits. It was considered to an honour to be chosen, recognition of his progress and the faith his trainers had in his abilities but to Jazz’s dismay, it had only isolated him further from the other recruits, many of whom were from Iacon and knew Jazz from the academy.

The lifestyle was very different from his time at the academy, the schedule was gruelling and the discipline was tough. Jazz learned quickly to tow the line, although he still bent a couple of the rules to get the job done, it was normally in a way that got him praised for forward thinking. Not all of his group would be recommended for officer material, they were at that point where they would be placed with officers of their respective fields, where they would be sponsored to continue their progress up the ranks of the Autobot army. This would be done in Iacon, in front of Prime. That alone had Jazz on edge. He was also to meet his sponsor who had funded his training, provided his expenses. It was simply how the Autobots had always run the army, those that had already made it into the officer ranks, supported the new recruits with the credits the army paid them.

Jazz was aware other members of his group had met their sponsors already but he’d had no contact with his and when he’d asked Ironhide about it, the mech had simply shrugged and told him some officers preferred to keep a low profile, work behind the scenes. He did however reassure Jazz that his progress had been followed very closely and he personally was pleased with his progress. Still, it made Jazz wonder why the officer wouldn’t want to meet his investment. There was a niggling worry at the back of his processor that his sponsorship wouldn’t continue into the next stellar cycle; maybe he wasn’t suitable for the army after all. He wouldn’t be surprised.

Peering out of the viewport of the transport as they came in for landing, Jazz felt his spark skip a beat. There was already a crowd gathered, waiting to greet them. Well wishers, protestors – a few of whom he recognised as his former friends – army escorts, holding the crowd back and family members of the arriving recruits. One thing Jazz was looking forward to on this trip was seeing his creators. He’d missed them terribly during his time training and had had very little opportunity to stay in touch.

Ironhide nodded to the recruits as they prepared for disembarkation, he led them out onto the platform, making sure they stayed in formation. They weren’t to respond to the crowd but there was growing unrest from the protestors and Jazz reacted to the danger before he’d even thought about it. The EMP bomb was only a small one, but it scattered the recruits, sent a few of them into immediate stasis. Jazz had rolled out of the way and had launched himself at the perpetrator before Ironhide had chance to rein him in. Grabbing the larger mech, Jazz made short work of putting him on his back, removing the plating that served as a mask. His visor flickered as he stared into the face of his former friend, Backlight. The mech pointed a weapon at his face with a smug smirk, forcing him back as he got to his feet.

“Well, well, I see the Autobot army has sliding standards.” The mech drawled, aiming his weapon at a stunned Jazz. “They even got you hiding behind a mask now, eh killer?” he gestured to Jazz's visor.

“What happened to you, mech?” Jazz asked softly.

“You’re going to find out what will happen to you should you not put that weapon down in the next three kliks.” Ironhide interceded, the muzzle of his canon resting on the back of Backlight’s helm. “Give me an excuse, scrapheap.”

Backlight’s optics brightened and he lowered his weapon before dropping it to the ground. Jazz instantly retrieved it and nodded to the waiting security guards to take him into custody. He watched the mech get dragged off in stasis cuffs and glanced at Ironhide as the mech came to stand beside him.

“Alright, kid?”

Jazz nodded, lowering his gaze. “You think you know someone…” He murmured quietly.

Ironhide nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah, I’m afraid you’ll find a lot of that in our line of work. You’ve got a good processor on your shoulders, you’ll work out who you can trust and call friend soon enough.”

“And if I keep getting it wrong?” Jazz asked quietly.

Ironhide huffed and began to walk away. “Jazz, with what we do, we need mechs and femmes to watch our backs. Getting it wrong just ain’t an option.” Looking back over his shoulder, Ironhide paused. “We got an appointment with Prime to keep, let’s move out.”

Jazz straightened and turned away from the hollering crowds with a grim expression. Being a soldier may not leave much room for friends but he was beginning to find out just who he could rely on. Thus far, his choices; Backlight, Prowl, had been disappointing. Silently, Jazz vowed this was going to change; there was nobody in this world that he could rely on more than himself.

****

The ceremony was a lavish one. Being in the palace of Iacon was the young Jazz’s dream. Standing to attention as Prime addressed them all with his officers flanking him, was not. The ceremony went on as official ceremonies do and Jazz found his attention slipping. They’d all passed their first year and now would be considered soldiers of the Autobot army as opposed to new recruits. They still had a lot to learn but now their training would be done alongside more experienced soldiers in their field of expertise. Jazz fidgeted a little, his frame feeling stiff from standing to attention for so long. Most of their names had been called out but Jazz had yet to hear his. Prime launched into another speech about honour and integrity and showing promise, Jazz was only half listening now as his attention had fallen onto another mech who had just entered the room. Prime finished talking and the black and white mech marched briskly through the central aisle of the long hall, stopping to bow gracefully before his Prime. Jazz watched enthralled by the etiquette as he spoke in hushed tones to Prime who gave him a nod and a smile.

“Now we come to the final part of our presentation. Recruits who have demonstrated a dedication above and beyond what has been asked of them will be presented with a ranked position and the opportunity to work in a field of their choosing. Only four recruits have been chosen after much deliberation among my officers.”

Jazz’s attention was now fully concentrated on Prime, he was curious as to why Prowl was late, what sort of rank he was that meant he stood just to Ironhide’s left. He used to think that Prowl, the professor he’d always known through the academy and the recruiter who had returned was but a mere administrator, not someone of high ranking in Prime’s court. It didn’t make it any more acceptable that the mech had had virtually no contact with him since his recruitment. Jazz couldn’t help but blame himself a little, he’d not been the most pleasant to be around that night before he’d boarded the transport, not after the incident with Backlight. Maybe Prowl would speak to him after the ceremony, give him chance to apologise.

“Autobots, Smokescreen, Inferno, Red Alert and Jazz. Please step forward, you are awarded the rank of Lieutenant 3rd class.”

Jazz frowned as the words filtered into his audio and he looked to the other three recruits stepping up to receive their commendation in disbelief. Wait, what? He felt himself being nudged forward and spotted Ironhide giving him a nod and a small grin as he stepped towards Prime. “I…I’m honoured.” He mumbled in shock, forgetting to even bow before Prime as he accepted the decal that signified his rank with disbelief.

“No, Jazz, it is we who are honoured. I’ve been told of your progress, keep up the good work. I’m sure you’ll enjoy working in Iacon.” Prime rumbled, amused by Jazz’s obviously shell shocked state.

His visor flickered. “Iacon…?” He repeated. That could only mean his sponsor was one of Prime’s officers, one of his first officers. Jazz immediately looked hopefully to Ironhide, who gestured subtly for him to go back into formation. Things were starting to look up after the rocky start to the cycle. Working with Ironhide, was more than Jazz could have hoped for.

****

Jazz loved a party and despite all the growing tensions outside of Iacon, Prime had endorsed this party. It was a celebration of their progression into the Autobot army, a welcoming relief, and a morale boost. Didn’t matter what Prime’s reasons were for the party, all that mattered to Jazz was enjoying it. He was of the belief that if a mech worked hard he had a right to party hard – as long as he kept his wits about him.

Sipping high grade, Jazz’s visor trained on the one mech that appeared to be avoiding him, talking in the corner with Ironhide. He never would have pictured the gruff older mech and the stuffy uptight, former professor as friends but watching them he could see clearly that they were. Taking a gulp of high grade, Jazz ventured over to his tutor and former tutor, giving a polite nod to them both, he immediately engaged Ironhide once the two mechs finished their conversation.

“Iacon, eh? I never expected that. You knew didn’t you?” Jazz grinned.

“I may have had an inkling.” Ironhide rumbled, sharing a subtle glance with Prowl.

Prowl inclined his helm slightly, peering at Jazz over the top of his protective lenses. “You’ve done well, Jazz. Your rank is deserved.”

Jazz gave the black and white a polite, if slightly forced smile. “It’s all thanks to Ironhide really. Couldn’t have gotten where I am without him pushing me.”

“You give me too much credit, kid. There are others you should thank too.”

Jazz gave a mild shrug. “There was nobody else hollering at me to push myself harder, who believed in me from the start, mech. Who else is there to thank?”

“How about your sponsor?” Ironhide replied, folding his arms.

“Mech hasn’t shown his face, hasn’t checked in with me, tried to find out how I’m progressing, what do I owe him?” Jazz countered, glancing between the two officers. “Besides I actually thought it was you for a klik, with me coming to work in Iacon and all, I don’t really care to meet him given his obvious lack of interest in me. I’m probably just another investment for an officer caught up in bureaucracy. Has to make him look good, right?” He finished dismissively.

At that point, Prowl shifted and placed his cube down on the nearby table. “If you’ll both please excuse me? I have some work to be catching up on.” Giving them both a stiff, polite nod, Prowl quickly disappeared amidst the crowd of milling soldiers and their families.

Jazz leant against the wall beside Ironhide, taking another sip of his high grade. “Mech works too hard. Bet he didn’t have time to sponsor anyone.” He stated absently, not quite registering the soft growl of Ironhide’s engine.

“He didn’t.” The older mech replied quietly. “But he sponsored anyway. He was going to offer his apologies this cycle at this party for not being able to participate much in his training because yeah, as second in command to Prime; the mech works too hard.”

“Oh…?” Jazz murmured softly into his cube, quite astonished at the revelation of Prowl’s rank, realisation slowly creeping over his processor.

“Yeah,” Ironhide continued. “Guess, given your attitude towards your sponsor, he changed his mind.” Shaking his helm with a huff of air from his vents, Ironhide glanced across at Jazz who at least had the decency to look contrite. “For a smart mech, Jazz, you can be a bit of a glitch.”

“How was I supposed to know…?” He muttered quietly.

“Doesn’t matter whether you knew, sponsors choose their charges, not the other way around. It’s a big responsibility and a risk if you’re associated with a mech who fails training. And apart from me, only because I’m assigned to the job of training your ungrateful aft, there ain’t anyone on Cybertron who’s followed your progress more closely.” Resting his hand on Jazz’s shoulder prompting him to look him in the optic, Ironhide continued a bit more softly. “In the army there are mechs like you and me who get our hands dirty and then there are mechs like Prowl who take on the responsibility of us putting our sparks in their hands, they pull the strings from behind the scenes, and quite often they have to send mechs like you and me out to die at the hands of the enemy. You’ll not always know, or see the mech who has your back, Jazz but you need to learn to show, even those you don’t see, the respect they deserve.”

“Why didn’t you tell me it was him?” Jazz asked softly.

“Wasn’t my place and sometimes knowing that there is a mech in Prowl’s position sponsoring you can put too much pressure on a bot. He didn’t want that for you. It was his choice.”

“I fragged up.” Jazz muttered.

“Not so much.” Ironhide smirked faintly. “Prowl is more understanding than he appears but…” He gave Jazz’s shoulder a hard squeeze. “I think it’s you that should be apologising to him.”

With that he left Jazz alone with his high grade, high grade Jazz wished he could now drown in. How had he been so blind? It wasn’t like him to be so ungrateful, he’d just been so on edge and wound up from his confrontation with Backlight, he’d reverted back to the mechling who had more often than not gotten his own way at the academy.

He needed to find Prowl, explain himself, and reassure the mech that his faith and investment in him hadn’t been misplaced. His creators had always taught him better than to shoot his mouth off and give off the wrong impression.

Weaving through the crowds, searching for the familiar black and white frame; Jazz’s spark sank, Prowl was nowhere to be found. Had he truly hurt the impassive mech’s feelings? The next time Jazz would see him would be his first duty shift. He only hoped he hadn’t irreparably damaged what would now become a working relationship. Why the mech had always seemed to believe in him was a complete mystery to Jazz but he had to try and fix what he could, before it was too late.

****

_You won't see me at the parties, I guess I'm just no fun._

_I won't be turning up the radio singing, "Baby You're The One"._

_But don't ever question if my heart beats only for you, it beats only for you._

__

_I know sometimes I get angry, and I say what i don't mean._

_I know I keep my heart protected, far away from my sleeve._

_But don't ever question if my heart beats only for you, it beats only for you._

****

Five cycles later.

Jazz groaned as his internal chronometer brought him out of his recharge cycle. He hated early starts, even more so when he’d barely recharged. His six breem shift had turned into an eight breem shift due to an emergency call out regarding a suspected attack on a medical centre on the outskirts of Iacon. Jazz had been the ranking officer on shift and had had to remain to coordinate the efforts of the soldiers from the command centre. It had been his first shift in command without the support of his sponsor, not that he tried to rely on Prowl much when he was about.

The mech was more on the ball than any of the other command staff. He was constantly controlling situations from the sidelines, behind the scenes. If there was an emergency, Prowl was always the first on scene, to Jazz it was like he appeared from nowhere and then vanished again once the job was done, leaving Jazz in command more often than not. Jazz hadn’t decided whether or not it was a compliment that Prowl had such faith in him and that he did not feel like he had to oversee his development. It was probably negligence on both their parts, for not working together more closely. As it was, last shift, Prowl had been on a diplomatic envoy with Prime and Ironhide, leaving Iacon’s command in Jazz’s hands. It had been then that all the fates of Cybertron had convened and conspired against him because whatever could have possibly gone wrong; went wrong. Spectacularly.

Sitting up on his berth, Jazz rubbed his face. There was to be an enquiry this cycle. Prime had learned of what had happened and had recalled the envoy. Jazz was to present his report to Prowl as soon as he was summoned. Mechs had lost their lives under his command.

Someone had to answer for those lost sparks. He’d fragged up. Jazz couldn’t help the anger bubble up in his spark, if only Prowl had supervised him more, been more approachable then he wouldn’t have made the mistake, he wouldn’t have been left in command and he wanted to tell him just that. The only problem was Officer Prowl wasn’t like the Professor Prowl he remembered from the academy. The mech had a formidable presence when in the command centre, he was commanding, cold and always right. It was infuriating and to Jazz; intimidating. He was not looking forward to facing a disgruntled, disappointed and possibly angry Prowl this cycle. It would not surprise him if he was demoted on the spot. Not that that would help alleviate the guilt he currently felt regarding the deaths of the unfortunate soldiers who had been ambushed at a medical centre.

Cancelling his alerts flashing across his HUD, Jazz replaced his visor and headed over to his personal console. He currently shared quarters with another Praxian, Smokescreen. The mech seemed alright, he worked hard and played hard, something to which Jazz hadn’t found the balance for, he didn’t know where Smokescreen got his energy from. His only experience of Praxians previously however had been Prowl and the two of them were polar opposites of one another. Jazz had even heard of Prowl reprimanding Smokescreen once or twice for stepping on his own supervisor’s toes once too often. Compared to him right now though, Smokescreen was a shining example of what an officer should be.

Keying in his location and ID code, Jazz sat in front of his monitor and put on a bright smile. There was no need to cause undue worry and concern where his creators were concerned. The communiqué bleeped that a connection could not be made and Jazz’s smile faded slightly. “Hi…” He began brightly, rubbing the back of his helm a little as the monitor recorded his message. “I guess you’re not home. Just wanted to check in, catch up, see how you both were. Things are alright here, they’re keeping us busy. Life with the Autobots isn’t quite what I expected but being ready for anything is all part of the job, right?” Looking down for a moment, Jazz contemplated telling them the truth of what had happened, he knew they’d be disappointed in him, probably devastated. “I found out who my sponsor was, I forgot to tell you that, it was Prowl after all so I owe you a few credits, Sire, you were right. I guess he did have my back. He’s sorta my supervisor here in Iacon too, it’s weird being in command, they don’t quite teach you to deal with every aspect of it. I have a meeting with Prowl shortly too, sort of an appraisal, see how I’m doing.” He trailed off, the lies tasting bitter on his glossa. “What was it you always told me? The only way to get through it is just to get through it. Applies to a lot more than you probably had in mind for me.” Smiling at the screen, Jazz gave a little shrug. “Might see you soon anyway, got some… leave coming up. Miss you both, hope you’re okay.” Clicking send, Jazz sat back in his chair, visor dimming. His HUD flashed up a ping from Prowl, it was time.

****

Inhaling slowly, Jazz stepped into the tactical control room where he’d been summoned to, he frowned as he heard voices intently discussing the next plan of action. Moving towards the interactive control station, he received curt nods from both Ironhide and Prowl and disinterested glances from Prowl’s junior tacticians busying themselves at different consoles dotted around the central one. The two officers were mulling over a map of Iacon and focusing on the area Jazz knew well, the medical centre and surrounding estates.

“We need to make an aggressive stand, Prowl.” Ironhide was stating bluntly. “These ‘cons need to know they don’t have control of the situation.”

“The fact of the matter is; they don’t. Attacking the outlying regions is clearly a sign of desperation.” Prowl replied quietly, his optics narrowed at the screen in front of them.

Jazz frowned slightly and shifted a little closer. “Could be scouting us out.” He stated mildly, visor flickering when he’d realised he’d spoken out loud and now both mechs’ attentions were focused on him.

“We didn’t think of that.” Ironhide muttered gruffly. “If they’ve got spies already infiltrating Iacon, Prowl—“

“—I’m well aware of what it means, Ironhide.” Prowl responded. “We need to inform Prime when he’s returned from the council. He needs to decide what the next course of action is to be.”

“Can’t you just return the favour?” Jazz asked nonplussed, he started when he found both mechs’ optics boring into him. “I mean that’s what the first rule of strategic planning tells us, right? Find out what the enemy wants to know about you and use it against him, infiltrate the enemy…” He trailed off self consciously when the two older mechs didn’t respond immediately. “Or not…” He added quietly.

“Not a bad idea, kid.” Ironhide commented, looking to Prowl with a frown. “What did I tell you?”

Prowl gave a sidelong look to Ironhide and vented a small sigh. “Fine. But we still don’t have the facilities for such an operation. We’ll need to speak to Prime either way and I very much doubt anyone is going to volunteer.”

“Might be surprised.”

“And Primus might appear in front of us.” Prowl responded sardonically. “But waiting and hoping isn’t going to give us results so we’re going to do this the proper way.”

“Um… I think I’m at the wrong meeting.” Jazz interrupted uncomfortably. “I’m supposed to be giving you a report on last shift, Prowl.”

Prowl gave Jazz a pointed look. “Did you bring it?”

“I er… yes.” Jazz retrieved the datapad from his subspace.

Holding out his hand while typing into the tactical console with the other, Prowl waited to receive the report.

“I don’t understand.” Jazz frowned, handing the datapad over.

“What’s to understand?” Ironhide asked distractedly. “You did your job; you get to do a report, bad sides to everything, Jazz.”

“But…” Jazz gritted his denta as both mechs refocused their attentions onto the tactical screen and were continuing their previous discussions, involving some of the junior tacticians typing at nearby consoles. “Mechs lost their lives for Primus’ sake. Doesn’t anybody care about that?!”

Jazz’s spark pulsed hard in his chest as every mech in the room suddenly stopped and stared at him. He hadn’t meant to have an outburst but the way they were so flippantly disregarding what had happened sickened him. Maybe it really wasn’t the right choice for him to join the Autobots.

“This is neither the time nor the place, Jazz.” Prowl responded quietly, his icy optics concentrating solely on Jazz.

“The frag it isn’t!” Jazz continued he’d already ruined his career, what more could go wrong? “They died because of me, because of my decision, because I was left in command of Iacon with no support from either of you! Their sparks are on your hands as well as mine and you just shrug it off like nothing has changed, what the frag are we planning to go to war for if an individual spark doesn’t matter?”

“Report to my office.” Prowl snapped coldly, looking back to the screen.

Glancing at Ironhide who gave Jazz a minute shake of his helm, Jazz took a step forward. “No.”

Whirling around on the smaller mech, Prowl glared at the mech whose progress he’d followed for longer than was probably professional. “You will cease and desist, Lieutenant.” He answered tersely, his tone clipped, door wings raised up high on his back, his optics bright with annoyance. “Go to my office immediately and wait for me there.” He held up his hand when Jazz opened his mouth to protest. “That is an order, Lieutenant, you choose to disobey me and you will be making your protests from the brig.”

Standing stiff to attention – a response that Prowl seemed to instil in any mech or femme bar Ironhide and Prime – Jazz glanced around at the other mechs in the room, all who averted their optics rather than back him up. Ironhide wouldn’t even look at him. So that was how it was? Feeling even more out of place in this Autobot army, Jazz turned on his heel and marched from the room.

Ironhide leaned into Prowl slightly when the Praxian turned back to the screen, his voice a low murmur. “Go easy on him. You remember what it was like the first time you killed someone.”

Prowl dropped his helm, removing his protective lenses as his optics dimmed. “I do, Ironhide.” He replied softly. “And don’t worry, I always planned to.”

****

Jazz paced the sparse office, constantly going over in his processor what he was going to say when Prowl showed up. Every scenario he’d come up with ended up in his resignation which right now, Jazz didn’t see as an altogether bad thing. However when the doors finally opened and Prowl entered the room, Jazz could do nothing other than stand to attention as he’d been so trained for the past stellar cycle. Prowl said nothing as he placed the datapads on the table and sat down, he peered up at Jazz through his lenses which gave his icy blue optics a faintly golden warm sheen.

“Please sit.” Prowl instructed quietly, gesturing to the chair opposite.

Frowning in confusion, fully expecting a reprimand or a lecture from his former professor, Jazz sat down slowly.

“There are a few things you need to realise about the position you hold, Jazz.” Prowl continued calmly. “You are a junior officer now, that means you will be setting an example to soldiers and other up and coming officers that may cross your path. It is not acceptable to curse and have an argument with your commanding officer while in a meeting, in future please save it for a more appropriate time.”

Jazz snorted in derision and folded his arms in a remarkably petulant show of rebellion. “Because you’ll listen, right?” He answered sarcastically.

“Jazz, I will always make time for you.” Prowl replied, his tone serious, his gaze steadfast. “You only need to ask.”

Feeling himself shrink under Prowl’s gaze, Jazz unfolded his arms and glared sullenly at the table. “You haven’t been there so far and I know you’ve probably been avoiding me since I got here because of what I said at the ceremony and I’m sorry alright but if you’d just left me a message something that said you were looking out for me, you were my sponsor, it wouldn’t have been so bad but you didn’t, so I’m sorry but I’m not taking it back. Even if I’m not proud of what I said.”

“Nor should you.” Prowl stated softly, derailing Jazz’s temper. Interlacing his fingers in front of him, Prowl sighed and looked down to his desk before continuing. “You showed a great aptitude and maturity during your training and also since becoming an officer that I am guilty of forgetting that you are still a young mech and all of this is a lot to take in so quickly, it’s a lot of responsibility and I apologise to you because if we had had the time, we would have trained you for longer, done it properly, done it right, prepared you for what you could potentially face, what you have already faced.”

“I don’t understand.” Jazz murmured. “Hasn’t training always been like this?”

Prowl gave a slight shake of his helm. “Joining the army or the Elite Guard as it once was known was done on a voluntary basis. You belong to the last class of recruits who will have chosen to join. We are about to make serving in the Autobot army as soldiers, compulsory for everyone for at least two stellar cycles following graduation.”

Jazz frowned at Prowl’s sombre tone. “You can’t be serious?”

“More than serious, Jazz.” Prowl replied, his optics dimming with regret. “It is not a decision Prime has come to lightly but we are running out of time and resources at a drastic rate.”

“But you can’t force people to fight an enemy they probably aren’t even aware of.” Jazz protested with insistence.

“The fact of the matter is, they are about to become aware very soon.” Prowl replied, picking up a data pad and handing it to Jazz. “The breach during your shift was one of many across Cybertron that have occurred even since I was recruited. It can no longer be contained to the out skirts of the city. The former Lord Protector has made his position clear.”

Jazz looked up at Prowl with worry in his visor. “Diplomacy failed, huh?”

“It more than failed.” Prowl replied, getting up from his seat and walking over to the window overlooking Iacon from his office. “If he is to be taken seriously – and at this point we would be negligent not to – as of last cycle, we are at war.”

Jazz’s intakes stalled at the statement. It couldn’t be. Civil war hadn’t been heard of on Cybertron in Vorns, it was a distant memory for even the oldest of individuals. He looked up as Prowl turned to face him, his voice low, sober as he explained the situation.

“This isn’t a war any of us have faced before. This is not just a civil war like the wars of old. This is war for our very survival. Lord Megatron has declared war on our way of life and has staked his claim for Cybertron itself.”

“Primus…” Jazz whispered, dread filling his spark. “What does this mean for Iacon?”

“Iacon is a heavily fortified city, it is the outlying regions such Vos, Kaon and Praxus that are at imminent risk.”

“What do we do?”

Prowl stepped closer to Jazz with a slight scowl on his face, regarding the younger mech curiously. “That is up to you, Jazz. Your outburst earlier is indicative of someone who does not feel like he wants to be here. That attitude in an officer can get other mechs killed.”

Jazz lowered his gaze, optics darting to the floor. “Like last cycle…”

“No.” Prowl answered softly. “Your actions last cycle were commendable.”

“What?” Jazz looked up his visor flickering in confusion.

“You stopped a bad situation from becoming worse.” Prowl continued softly. “Yes, unfortunately, good mechs lost their lives but their sacrifice saved the medical centre under your orders.” Holding Jazz’s gaze with a faint yet saddened smile for a few kliks, Prowl returned to his desk and retrieved a datapad. “Do you know how many the medical centre holds, how many lives would have been lost?”

Jazz shook his helm, remaining silent.

“One hundred and fifty.” Prowl peered at him over the top of his protective lenses before removing them from his face, placing them down on the datapad. “Four soldiers died protecting one hundred and fifty civilians. Your orders, Jazz.” Prowl stated softly. “Saved innocent lives.”

Looking down at his desk, Prowl vented a quiet sigh. Jazz saw for the first time the weight of command on the older mech’s shoulders, a weight that was now also his to bear. “I’m sorry for my outburst…” He murmured, glancing down at his feet.

Prowl looked up and smiled faintly. “Don’t apologise for feeling, Jazz, never apologise for that.”

“What did you do?” Jazz asked, suddenly curious.

“Excuse me?”

“When you were in my position? There must have been a first time for you too… what did you do? How did you handle it?”

“Ah…” Prowl’s doorwings fluttered slightly, something which instantly drew Jazz’s attention, he’d only ever seen those appendages held perfectly still or give the slightest twitch, to see them flutter was indicative of something more, something which had Jazz even more intrigued about the former professor come soldier sitting before him.

“I didn’t…” Prowl’s reply was soft, embarrassed almost, his optics flicking down to clasped hands in front of him.

“You didn’t?”

Shaking his helm minutely, Prowl picked up his protective lenses and turned them about in his fingers, his thumbs brushing over the glass. “I didn’t handle it. Not well anyway.” He replied quietly, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. “It’s why I wear these.” He held up the lenses to Jazz who frowned in confusion.

“You said there was an EMP blast, you got caught in it and that there wasn’t enough resources to fix your optics…”

“You have met the chief medical officer, Ratchet haven’t you?”

“Yeah… he kinda rips me a new helm if I push too hard in my training with Ironhide.”

Prowl smirked slightly and nodded. “That’s Ratchet. Do you really think, given that our optics are not the most complicated part of our anatomy to repair, that he would not have been able to repair them by now?”

His frown deepened, his optics fixing on the lenses in Prowl’s hand. “You wear them to remind you.” He stated quietly, meeting Prowl’s gaze. “You choose not to have your optics repaired because you couldn’t save them?”

Tilting his helm slightly with a flicker of a grimace, Prowl placed the lenses back onto his nasal bridge and exhaled slowly. “I choose not to have them repaired because I am responsible for their deaths.” Sitting back in his chair, Prowl straightened and regarded Jazz with a cool mask of authority he’d mastered over the vorns. “And so you see, Jazz being an officer comes with the burden of responsibility of others’ lives. You need to decide if that’s something you can handle, something you want to handle and deal with as a result of your decisions, your commands.”

Watching Prowl as he expertly changed the subject from his own experiences and obvious guilt, Jazz narrowed his optics behind his visor and nodded. “I understand.”

Giving him a faint yet understanding smile, Prowl nodded. “So I trust there will be no more outbursts?”

Getting up from his seat, Jazz let out a quiet chuckle. “Until I disagree with you.” He replied with a cheeky grin, receiving an amused glance from the tactician. “Thanks though…” He added a little quieter, his smile fading slightly.

Giving him a slight bow of his helm in acknowledgement and a warmer smile that Jazz decided he liked being directed at him, Prowl dismissed him and set about his work.

Pausing at the door, Jazz glanced back at the black and white already frowning with concentration. “Prowl…”

“Hmm?”

Jazz hesitated when those icy blue optics glanced up to regard him curiously and he looked away for a klik, hoping he wasn’t about to step out of line. “Choosing not to have your optics repaired out of guilt, doesn’t help them or bring them back, kinda makes you a liability on the field though and isn’t really handling the consequences of your commands. In fact I’d go so far as to say it wasn’t dealing with them at all… Sir.” He trailed off meekly, slipping out of the office, leaving a mildly astonished Prowl staring after him in stunned silence.

_Cause when you've given up._

_When no matter what you do it's never good enough._

_When you never thought that it could ever get this tough,_

_Thats when you feel my kind of love._

****

 


	3. War

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the final day of the prowl x jazz valentine's challenge  
> Day 28, Prompt: I like your style, I like your vibe, but that's not why I love you.

"Are you sure you know what you're getting yourself into? Prowl have you approved this?" Prime asked both Jazz and Prowl in turn.

Prowl stepped forward before Jazz could answer. "I have not. I fact I vehemently opposed the request. Which is why we're standing before you now," he responded coolly.

Jazz scoffed a little. "Yeah apparently arguing loudly warrants your involvement...um, Prime Sir," he ducked his helm respectfully, ignoring Prowl's warning glower at his tone.

“Indeed,” Prime rumbled, giving Jazz a scrutinising glance, before looking to his second in command. “Prowl I trust you have good reasons for refusing his request?”

“He is only a junior officer, Prime, and while very talented and good at his duties, he is inexperienced.”

“You know, I am right here?” Jazz commented sullenly. “And with all due respect, Sir, but I have the highest aptitude scores for this sort of mission and during training I excelled in special operations,” he looked up at the leader of the Autobots. “I know I can do this, Sir, and Commander Prowl is ignoring the fact that I was the only one who volunteered for the mission.”

“That is beside the point,” Prowl snapped back, his doorwings flaring up.

Optimus’s optics brightened at that. Prowl was obviously riled by this. That was rare. Since accepting the Matrix, Optimus had seen his second in command lose his cool a total of three times, this being the third.

“And what exactly is the point?” Jazz shot back, glaring at Prowl defiantly. “You don’t think I can do it, just say so, let everyone hear it!”

Holding his hand up, Prime commanded silence from the two bickering mechs. “Jazz, I know for a fact that Prowl thinks very highly of your abilities. He would not have chosen to sponsor you had he not,” he looked at Prowl with a vague frown. “I know you’re worried, Prowl but we need this intel and Jazz did volunteer. Regardless of your reasons for disapproving his going it is your responsibility to make sure he’s prepared for this mission--”

“--But, Sir--”

“Those are my orders, Prowl,” Prime finished firmly.

Straightening to attention stiffly at the mild rebuke, Prowl gave a respectful bow and swept out of his office with barely a passing glance in Jazz’s direction.

Optics dimming behind his visor, Jazz exhaled softly and stood to attention before his Prime. “I apologise for the outburst, Prime. It won’t happen again.”

“See that it doesn’t,” Optimus replied lightly, his gaze wandering over Jazz curiously. What was it about this young mech that held Prowl’s focus and had driven him to invest in his future. It was obvious from his irritation that Prowl cared about Jazz and was worried about the mission but he had never, in Prime’s experience, allowed his personal feelings about a situation get in the way of his duty. It was something he would have to keep a close optic on. “You are dismissed, Jazz.”

Jazz bowed politely and headed for the door before his leader’s low baritone stopped him.

“Jazz…”

“Prime, Sir?”

“Be careful, come back,” Optimus urged gently. Jazz gave him a brilliant, confident smile and tipped his helm and raised two fingers in a lazy salute. “Always,” he answered easily before slipping out of his office.

****

"I didn't peg you for a mech that avoided hard conversations."

Prowl didn't glance up at the gravelly sound of Ironhide's voice and continued on staring at the tactical data on the holo screens.

Shaking his helm, Ironhide stepped into the tactical suite and silently dismissed Prowl's staff. Coming to a stop beside Prowl, he gazed at the screens silently for a few kliks. Prowl was as always a picture perfect image of serenity, with his hands clasped behind his back, doorwings held still, face impassive. "So you going to tell me what's really got up your tail pipe about Jazz volunteering?"

"Nothing has done anything of the sort," Prowl responded blandly. "I'm extremely busy, Ironhide was there something I could help you with?"

Ironhide smirked at the obvious dismissal and chose to ignore it. "Yeah you can answer my fraggin' question," he answered firmly.

Pursing his lips slightly, Prowl looked back at the screens. "Jazz is inexperienced. There is nothing more to be said on the matter," he murmured looking down at the myriad of data pads strewn over the console.

"You're worried for him, I get that, I am too," Ironhide spoke up with a certain level of sympathy. He knew that Prowl had taken a great deal of interest in Jazz's progress and cared about the mech a lot more than he'd likely ever admit. "But stewing in here when you should be preparing him for possibly the scariest thing he's ever going to do, given that the first time is always the most difficult, is not going to give him the best chance of coming back now, is it?"

Prowl remained silent, door wings giving a tell tale twitch. Ironhide couldn't tell if it was in irritation or apology. More than likely both.

"Look, at the very least make sure he goes out there with a clear processor. He respects you and he likes you, though Primus only knows why on that one. Don't let him go after a fight because if the worst happens, you'll never forgive yourself," giving Prowl a friendly pat on the shoulder, Ironhide took his leave and left Prowl alone. No amount of talking would get Prowl to do something if he didn't want to do it.

****

Jazz assessed what he was taking with him. An aloof mech who'd called himself Mirage had provided him with the standard kit for undercover agents along with a few other extra bits Jazz had requested. The mech had been beyond unhelpful when he'd asked questions and had, not in so many words, told him he was a glitch for volunteering for what he considered a suicide mission and either he was an idiot or had a death wish and he didn't agree with wasting precious special operations' resources on reckless mechs with a point to prove.

Jazz had had no response to that. Which was just as well as Mirage didn't give him chance to give one. Now alone in his room, Jazz checked over the equipment with barely steady hands.

"What in the frag was I thinking!" He hissed to himself in exasperation, after  taking apart and putting back his weapon for umpteenth time. "What is it exactly you're trying to prove?" He muttered sullenly to himself. "You're going to get yourself killed, Jazz."

"I certainly hope not."

The familiar calm tenor tore Jazz away from his moody brooding and had him snapping to attention and staring at Prowl with a mixture of annoyance and surprise.

"I apologise, I should have announced myself, bad habit," Prowl spoke, pausing when Jazz didn't immediately respond. "At ease, Jazz."

Not really sure why Prowl had come to his quarters, Jazz frowned slightly but forced himself to relax. "Here to tell me what a bad idea this is?"

"I--"

"--well don't," Jazz interrupted quickly. "I've had just about all the support I can cope with for one cycle," he added sarcastically, turning his back to Prowl and making a point of putting his kit back in its container.

Prowl ducked his helm and took a step into the room. "I won't deny that I have my misgivings about this mission..." he started softly. "But I want you to know it's not because I doubt your abilities," he gazed at the back of Jazz's helm, frowning a little when Jazz neither acknowledged nor responded. Nodding in understanding as he interpreted Jazz's silence for anger, Prowl straightened and stepped back towards the door. "There will be a briefing in the training suite shortly. I want to ensure that you have the highest chance of success, please be prompt," he turned towards the door and hesitated, mouth opening to say something before deciding against it with a slight shake of his helm.

Jazz glanced back catching the edge of a doorwing as Prowl left his room. Sinking down into his berth, he dropped his helm in his hands with a groan. He felt bad that he'd given Prowl the cold shoulder but it was easier than admitting that maybe, he'd bitten off more than he could chew.

It was too late to back out now.

****

Prowl's briefing was, as always, succinct. There was no extraneous information, everything he detailed would be something Jazz needed and could use to his advantage. Despite knowing that it was the last thing Jazz wanted to hear right now but Prowl had insisted they start and had refused to wait. He'd almost made it an order, which only made Jazz bristle in frustrated irritation. When Prowl went over the plan for the third time something inside Jazz snapped. "Look, mech, for frag's sake, I'll remember, it's burned into my cortex for all time, now will you please shut up and listen to me?"

The room fell silent at Jazz's outburst and only the afterthought of a softly whispered 'Sir', from an astonished looking Jazz, cut through the thick air of the tactical centre.

Prowl was equally taken aback and stared at Jazz, optics intense and bright. It seemed emotional outbursts were something to get used to where Jazz was concerned. He did however hope that would be a habit he curbed quickly. It was difficult to lead an army that couldn't rely on you to be their centre, steady and sure and even more difficult to earn the respect of hardened soldiers after they'd witnessed such an outburst.

“Look Prowl, I’m sorry, I acted like an aft earlier, I was still bruising over what Mirage said--”

“--What Mirage said?” Prowl asked with a frown, his demeanour once again all business.

Jazz waved off his concern. “It’s no big, really. He’s an experienced ops mech and thinks this is a really bad idea, but who here doesn’t right?” his mouth pulled down into a frown as he wrung his hands a little. “I’m not even entirely sure myself but I know with my aptitude scores and my experiences in ops training; I should try, the fact of the matter is, there’s no one else,” Jazz looked up, meeting Prowl’s stern gaze. “I was mad because I guess I just expected you to at least have faith in me…” he trailed off, running out of steam as Prowl maintained an air of stoic indifference.

Finally after an agonising stretch of silence, Prowl flicked his wings and marched past Jazz. “Come with me,” he stated firmly in a tone that wasn’t quite an order but left no room for arguing.

Jazz followed and stepped into Prowl’s office after Prowl. He’d stepped over the line again and he knew it. Bracing himself, he waited for the lecture that was coming. It didn’t and he started in surprise when Prowl placed both hands on his shoulders.

“Jazz, I know you are capable, more than capable and have proven yourself in this position just as I knew you would,” Prowl paused, searching for the right words.

Jazz steeled himself for the ‘but’ that he knew was coming.

“But, there are thing in war that do not follow protocols and situations that can’t be trained for. Scores and ability aside, you have never been behind enemy lines, you’ve never actually fought on the front lines and that is why I disapproved your request. I know you want to help but to me this seems like a reckless and ill thought out decision on your part,” Prowl stepped back and laced his fingers behind his back. “As it stands, I have been overruled by Prime and so it is my responsibility to ensure that you have the absolutely best chance of returning to us in one piece, hopefully online,” he regarded Jazz with sharp, pale blue optics. “There is no room for anything else, certainly not sentiment nor my own personal grievances on the matter,” he visibly straightened and his doorwings stilled on his back. “I apologise for clouding the issue and causing distraction and doubt in you, with my own emotions, it will not happen again.”

Jazz stared at Prowl, his mouth slightly parted as he reeled off his, what could only be called in Jazz’s mind, put down. He looked down at the floor, a frown creasing his faceplates. “So… what you’re saying is, you still disapprove of my going and you’re probably still mad at me for arguing with you but you’re not going to let emotion and the fact that you actually care about my well being, get the better of you?” Jazz canted his helm at Prowl who had no response to that. Letting out a short, soft laugh, Jazz nodded. “It’s good to know where your processor’s at, Sir.”

“Jazz… I…”

“No, it’s alright,” Jazz stood to attention. “I forgot my place, Commander, won’t happen again but if I may speak freely one more time?” Jazz waited for Prowl’s small nod of permission. “What the frag are we fighting for if we don’t allow ourselves to feel with every decision? That’s why I volunteered, not because I thought I was the best choice, or because I wanted to prove myself or earn some kind of medal for potentially going to my death. I volunteered because it was necessary, because we need that intel and no one was willing to take it on without being ordered to, and weren't you the mech who told me not to apologise for feeling?” he inhaled slowly and met Prowl’s steady yet uncertain gaze. “Thank you for giving me the best chance of survival and for the opportunity to find out what it was I wanted to do with my life,” he gave Prowl a stiff salute. “May I be dismissed, Sir? I have a lot still to prepare.”

At that moment, Prowl was both immensely proud and extremely annoyed at the stubborn, headstrong mech Jazz had become. “Dismissed,” he answered curtly. His posture sagged once Jazz had left and Prowl felt a familiar regret and guilt rolling through him.

****

Jazz had been gone for five full cycles and it was all Prowl could do not to continuously ping his comm. to see if he was alright. He was half a cycle over his check in time and Prowl hadn’t left the command centre, despite it ending well over a cycle ago.

Ironhide let out a sigh as his gaze fell on the black and white mech. “Thought Prime told you to get some rest?” he rumbled, coming to stand beside Prowl.

“I was not under the impression it was an order,” Prowl responded blandly.

“You standing here worrying isn’t going to bring him back any quicker.”

“Nor is me worrying alone in my quarters but at least here I can be of some use,” Prowl pointed out, unfazed by Ironhide’s ‘pep talk’.

“He’s a talented ‘bot, he’s going to be fine, you’ll see,” Ironhide tried to reassure.

Prowl gave him a pointed, sidelong glance. “Even you cannot be that certain or optimistic, this is war, Ironhide,” he responded stoically. “Mechs are dying every cycle,” he did not add that the majority were more experienced and better skilled than Jazz. The thought made his spark twist in his chest.

“Frag, Prowl, you make it sound like you’ve already given up on him!” Ironhide retorted with exasperation. “Look I know you care about him, Jazz will see that when he--”

“Ironhide, if you don’t mind,” Prowl interrupted tersely. “I am quite busy.”

The air of finality surrounding Prowl’s statement told Ironhide there would be no getting through to the mech, this cycle at least. He’d seen him do exactly the same thing the last time he’d indirectly been responsible for a friend’s death. He stalked out of the command centre and took a diversion to Prime’s quarters, silently offering a prayer to Primus that he bring back Jazz safely.

****

Jazz was a mess. He barely knew which way was up but knew he had to keep going. The intel he had managed to obtain - and nearly lost his head for - was going to be invaluable for the Autobots and was far more than they’d originally hoped. The explosive devices he’d left in his wake had done a good job of ensuring he wasn’t followed but he was low on energon, injured in places he didn’t even know he had and was pretty sure he was hallucinating in his energon starved state.

Due to his damage, he had no idea how long he’d been behind enemy lines, unable to transform and making his way slowly across the barren outlying landscapes between Kaon and Iacon. He’d barely managed to escape a couple of acid rain storms which had partially stripped his plating down to its protoform in some places.

Limping and half crawling, he climbed up the slope of the mountain range that rose up menacingly between the two warring cities. Mountain was inaccurate. There were no mountains on Cybertron just ancient behemoth remains of old buildings, old cities of the Quintessons that had been eroded by the acid rain to jagged, barely impassable, gigantic outcrops of metal. He’d already climbed and passed the smaller ranges, this - if he was remembering his geography correctly - was the final major hurdle between Kaon and Iacon. With every last ounce of his waning strength and failing body, Jazz heaved himself over the edge and unsteadily got to his feet. Taking in the landscape before him, he let out a wail of despair and sank down to his knees in defeat.

The mountain swept downwards towards a metallic and crystalline desert below, scorched by electrical storms and melted by numerous rain storms. If that wasn’t bad enough, between the mountain and the unforgiving landscape ahead was a monstrous cavern that ran along the base of the mountain range for as far as Jazz’s optics could see. It was deep and black and would need to be flown over. In getting to Kaon, Jazz had taken the service route, a few of the highways were still intact and although peppered by laser fire and recurring outbreaks of fighting, they were still less risky than trying to cross the wastelands. In his hasty escape, that route had become impossible for him. Even in good health, Jazz couldn’t have passed the looming crack in the planet. It almost looked like Cybertron was trying to tear itself in half.

Jazz was undone, he simply could not go on any longer. He sent out his beacon, encrypted with the data, he’d been saving the last of his energy for this moment, to ensure that the interference of the mountains didn’t corrupt his signal and prevent its transmission. He hoped it would reach civilisation soon. Dizzy and exhausted, Jazz tried to get to his feet, only to slip on the smooth metal. He plummeted towards the gaping crack at the base, his ruined hands trying to catch hold of anything as the metal and glass cut into his plating. He rolled and bounced down the mountain and suddenly found himself flying through the air before smashing into a solid metal surface and skidding to a stop on his front, mere metres from the edge of the crevice.

His body broken, Jazz lay still. It didn’t even really hurt anymore. He thought of his life to that point and found he only had one regret. Smiling weakly to himself, Jazz let his processor indulge in the fantasy of what if, before he succumbed to his injuries and he welcomed the relief and peace of darkness.

****

__

_And when you're crying out._

_When you fall and then can't pick, you're heavy on the ground_

_When the friends you thought you had haven't stuck around._

_That's when you feel my kind of love_.

****

Prowl shot up as his comm pinged urgently. “Red Alert to Prowl!” the security mech sounded frantic. Which was unusual for the young Lieutenant.

“Yes, what is it?” Prowl responded tiredly, rubbing his faceplates as he shook off the remnants of his recharge cycle.

“We have a signal, it’s weak but intact and it was only transmitted a cycle ago!”

Pulling a face, Prowl stared at the ceiling and silently asked for patience. “That isn’t out of the ordinary, Red Alert--” he started before the mech quickly interrupted him.

“It’s from Jazz, Sir, the signal is from Jazz!”

****

The following cycles had gone by in a blur for Prowl. Coordinating Jazz’s rescue had been a risky operation. The encrypted data he’d sent in his transmission had already been downloaded by tactical and was being analysed by the time Sky Lynx appeared in the sky, transporting Jazz back to the safety of Iacon.

Prowl was in the medbay, waiting for a report anxiously as Ratchet entered, guiding the medical drones that were carrying Jazz on a stretcher over to the nearest operating berth. Prowl’s optics brightened in shock as he took in Jazz’s injuries and the faintest tinges of grey around his frame. The guilt threatened to crush his spark but he refused to let it show on his face.

The medic held up his hand before Prowl could speak. “He’s completely slagged, Prowl, I honestly don’t know if there’s anything I can do,” he held Prowl’s gaze. “You know I’ll do everything I can, I’ll need extra resources though…”

“Of course, anything you need,” Prowl nodded, only just managing to keep his emotions in check.

Ratchet raised an optic ridge at that. Ironhide had told him that Prowl had taken an interest in the young mech but he could see now that it ran far beyond professional no matter how much Prowl tried to hide it.

“You’ll inform me as soon as you have infor--”

“You’ll be the first,” Ratchet assured. “Now there’s nothing you can do for him here, let me work.”

Prowl gave him a curt nod and stole a subtle glance at the prone form on the berth behind him before sweeping out of the medbay swiftly.

****

“What does the intel tell us?” Prime asked somberly as the briefing started. It had been several cycles since Jazz’s miraculous return and they had spent the majority of it de-crypting and analysing the data he’d managed to get for them.

“It details the Decepticons’ current plans, details of underground routes, sources within Autobot ranks and details of larger scale attacks,” Prowl explained curtly.

Optimus frowned deeply. “Sources within the Autobots?”

“They have already been identified and security despatched to place the individuals and their associates under arrest.”

“I trust this will be discreet?”

Ironhide huffed. “As much as is possible, Prime,” he groused with a scowl. “Some aren’t going to come in quietly.”

Optimus nodded. “Any within the senior command of the Army?”

Prowl and Ironhide shared a glance before Prowl gave his leader a nod. “Two, Prime. Starscream and Soundwave,” he stated soberly.

Rubbing his face plates, Optimus sighed sadly and shook his helm. “Such a waste. See to it that they’re all place under the highest security of the stockade, we don’t have time to process them of yet.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Anything else, you mentioned their larger scale attacks?”

Prowl nodded. “That information was heavily encrypted and slightly corrupted during transmission by the damage Jazz suffered. We are working on it but we may need to wait for Jazz’s actual decryption codes. We have however sent additional troops to the outlying neutral cities of Vos and Praxus, both of whom are still refusing Autobot protection.”

“Wait? Isn’t Jazz in medical stasis?” Optimus looked around the table for Ratchet who he now realised was absent.

“Ratchet sends his apologies, he was waylaid,” Prowl explained, following his leader’s gaze. “And yes, currently Jazz remains in stasis, Ratchet was able to repair a lot of the damage but he is still critical,” he added, his mouth pressing into a thin line at his hidden concern.

“We can’t afford to wait for his codes, Prowl,” Optimus pointed out somewhat sympathetically.

“I do have special ops working on breaking the code but they are having difficulty…” he trailed off, glancing at Obsidian who pulled a face at the SIC.

“It seems that Jazz’s encryption abilities exceed that of my operators. Mirage and Tracks are working on it but everytime they think they’ve got it, the code changes, fragger protected it against hacking in case the message was intercepted. Fraggin’ clever if you ask me,” the head of special operations growled out grimly.

Optimus’s optics brightened in surprise. “Prowl, when Jazz awakes see to it he undergoes some additional special ops training, we could use these skills of his.”

“Understood, Sir,” Prowl noted it down into a datapad, ignoring the annoyed huff of air from the Chief operator. Obsidian, who along with Prowl had disapproved of the mission and most of all of Jazz had taken an instant dislike to the Polyhexian since he was appointed his duties. This hadn’t surprised Prowl that much as the mech didn’t much like him either, since he was promoted to second in command over him and so his sponsee was fair game.

“Those large scale attacks are our highest priority, I want a follow up in three cycles,” Optimus commanded. “Dismissed.”

Everyone stood and bowed as Prime took his leave and Prowl frowned as he gathered up his datapads.

“You better keep that glitch out of my unit, Prowl,” Obsidian growled darkly, glancing at Ironhide who glared at him in warning.

“You have your orders, Obsidian,” Prowl replied calmly, his gaze icy cool. “Is there something keeping you from carrying them out?”

Glaring back, Obsidian snarled with irritation and swept out of the room, muttering about afts and bureaucrats.

Ironhide shook his helm and came to stand beside Prowl. “Never really got over your promotion did he?”

“It appears not. Regardless of his feelings, Jazz will undergo training with his unit when he’s medically cleared for duty. He has proven himself more than capable.”

“And if he doesn’t want to be special ops?” Ironhide rumbled thoughtfully.

Prowl sighed and subspaced his datapads, walking with his friend out of the room. “There is a lot in war that we don’t want to do, Ironhide. At this point, choice is simply an illusion only the lower ranks can be afforded.

****

Jazz onlined to the bright, garish lights of the medbay and one frowning medic peering over him. “Primus, Ratchet, are you a sight for sore optics,” Jazz quipped lightly, his voice hoarse.

Ratchet grunted and pulled back, activating the berth to help Jazz into a sitting up position. “‘Bout time you woke up, all pit’s about to break lose.”

“Augh, seriously you can put me back under, I’ve been through pit and back, I’ve had my fill,” Jazz groaned, grateful when Ratchet dimmed the lights. “How long was I out?”

“Fifteen cycles,” Ratchet replied, disconnecting Jazz from the machines. “You’re to report straight to tactical as soon as you’re able to walk.”

“Seriously?” Jazz frowned. “What’s going on?”

“It appears you have created an unhackable encryption and if it isn’t broken soon, Commanders Obsidian and Prowl are likely to deactivate each other,” another voice spoke up, haughty and familiar.

Jazz pursed his lips as Mirage appeared and approached the berth. “Mirage,” he dipped his helm politely as he slowly swung his legs over the side of the berth, with Ratchet stabilising him gently with one hand.

Mirage glanced down at the floor before his gaze softened somewhat when he looked back at Jazz. “I apologise,” he stated clearly, proudly.

Both Ratchet and Jazz stopped and stared in surprise at the former noble, who clasped his hands behind his back and stood regally, unfazed by their reactions.

“You did well,” he dipped his helm in a slight bow, his optics never leaving Jazz, his mouth quirking ever so subtly into a half smile. “You have my respect.”

Jazz opened his mouth to respond but found no words forthcoming. He glanced at Ratchet, who shrugged, almost as non-plussed as he was. Sliding off the berth, Jazz’s gaze returned to Mirage. “Thanks…”

Curtly nodding at the response, the noble stepped to one side. “I have been ordered to escort you straight to tactical,” the mech stated firmly.

Jazz smirked at the return of the haughty commanding tone and frosty demeanour. “Lead the way, I wouldn’t want to be late,” he grinned, gesturing to the door.

Mirage raised an optic ridge at that as Jazz fell into step beside him. “The time for punctuality has already passed,” he answered, slowing his pace slightly to accommodate Jazz’s pronounced limp.

“It was a joke, mech,” Jazz chuckled. “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it.”

Huffing air softly, Mirage made a low noise of disapproval. “I certainly hope not.”

****

Tactical was thick with tension when they arrived and nobody was talking. Jazz grimaced at the heavy atmosphere and followed Mirage over to the far console where both Prowl and Obsidian were in heated, yet quiet discussion.

“Doesn’t seem that bad…” Jazz murmured to Mirage, who actually pulled a face of disdain.

“Let’s just say that it is unbecoming of two adult mechs from respectable backgrounds to have behaved in such a manner,” Mirage replied softly.

Jazz glanced up at him. “I sense that I’ve missed quite a bit of excitement.”

“A fist fight between the Second in Command of the Autobot army and its’ Director of Special Operations,” the noble explained, glancing down at Jazz. “I shall let you be the judge of how much excitement you consider that to be.”

“Frag…” Jazz whispered in shock, more to himself than to Mirage. Prowl in a fight. That seemed… extreme.

“Jazz, finally! Sort this mess out!” Obsidian marched over, gesturing to the screen, his optics boring into the smaller mech.

“Obsidian, blocking his access to the console is counter-productive, please stand aside,” Prowl ordered calmly, still a picture of impassive serenity as Jazz gave Obsidian a dark look and stepped past him.

“What is it you need me to do?” Jazz asked, coming to a stop beside Prowl, trying not to stare at the obvious crack in his cheek plating from a recent impact with a fist.

“Deactivate your encryption for the rest of the datafile you sent to us. We fear the information may be critical,” Prowl answered quietly, his hand touching Jazz’s elbow in offered support as the smaller mech gingerly lowered himself into a chair.

Looking over the data, Jazz hummed and typed in a few keys. “You tried to hack it didn’t you?” he grinned faintly up at Prowl, whose optics dimmed tiredly and looked subtly back at the glowering visage of Director Obsidian.

Jazz smirked and nodded. “It’ll take me a couple of joors, hacking re-writes the code,” he explained as his fingers flew over the interface.

Prowl nodded. “You will have it, please inform me directly, not over comm. when you have done?” he asked.

Jazz simply nodded and smiled at Prowl. “No problem, Commander,” he replied, already focused on his work.

Prowl smiled faintly at the smaller mech and hesitantly placed a hand on his shoulder. “It is good to have you back, Jazz,” he stated, his hand lingering a while longer than he should have allowed it to, before he turned and proceeded to usher Obsidian and Mirage out of his tactical centre.

Jazz paused for a klik when Prowl moved away and glanced back at the doorwinged mech. He smiled faintly to himself, his spark fluttering a little at the brief but lingering contact. Maybe he hadn’t totally fragged everything up, afterall?

****

15 Cycles later

Ironhide glanced up as Jazz slid into the seat opposite his and silently frowned at the table. Sipping his cube he watched the younger mech for a few kliks before shaking his helm and tapping his arm to get his attention. “Whatever the table has done, I’m sure it’s very sorry,” he smirked as Jazz looked up at him in mild confusion.

“Sorry, mech… I don’t know where my processor is at at the moment.”

“You come here to tell me that?” Ironhide sat back in his seat with amusement. “I could’a told you that.”

Jazz just sighed rather than shooting back his own witty retort. “It’s just, I can’t figure him out. We work well one cycle and the next he looks like he wants to snuff out my spark with his bare hands,” Jazz rubbed the back of his helm in frustration. “I swear he hates me for something but the mech avoids talking to me beyond issuing orders. ‘Hide I don’t know what I’ve done,” he looked up earnestly at the older mech, whose mouth downturned in sympathy.

“Would you like me to tell you that he had a processor lobotomy while you were gone and returned to us the shell of the mech he once was?”

“Yes, that would help,” Jazz responded somewhat incredulously.

“I can’t,” Ironhide shrugged, chuckling as Jazz groaned and dropped his helm to the table. “Mech’s as complicated as they come. He cares but he has a habit of distancing himself from those he cares about, especially those he cares about a lot,” he added, giving Jazz with a smile as he peered up at him.

“Alright, so he cares about me but why all the cold, silent treatment?”

“He feels guilty, you almost died.”

“That’s not his fault!”

Ironhide nodded and laughed softly. “He’s second in command to Prime, Jazz… everything that goes on is his responsibility, comes with the position. I couldn’t do it,” he shrugged. “He’s sent mechs to their deaths before, mechs he called friends, it takes its toll on a mech.”

“Yeah I know, that’s why he wears the lenses right?”

Ironhide frowned slightly. “No… did he tell you that?”

Jazz nodded.

“Mech was a rookie, his commander or should I say his sponsor, should never have sent him out there. He wasn’t ready. The explosion that damaged his optics, killed a mech who died saving his life. He shielded Prowl from the explosion, his optics were exposed. He knows it wasn’t his fault but he took it as a personal failure for not disagreeing with his superior and agreeing to go in the first place,” Ironhide’s mouth twisted and he shook his helm. “He wears them to remember that we all have to start somewhere. His commander was relieved of command for reckless endangerment.”

“That’s why he was so against my volunteering,” Jazz murmured with realisation.

“Now you’re getting it,” Ironhide grinned.

“Frag, I’ve been such a glitch,” Jazz muttered forlornly.

“Nah just young and impulsive. Just like he was,” Ironhide replied warmly. “He likes you too much to avoid you forever, don’t worry but don’t expect to go on any missions for the next vorn or three.”

Jazz pursed his lips. “Everyone keeps saying that,” he muttered. “And what’s this about Prowl and Obsidian being in a fist fight?”

“Oh…” Ironhide pulled a face and growled softly. “That is a long story.”

Jazz held out his hands. “I’m still on medical leave,” he gave Ironhide a hopeful look. “I got time.”

****

When Jazz was cleared from medical leave and returned to duty he was literally thrown helm first into the special ops and tactical training, on top of his routine duties. He was constantly tired but his processor lingered on the rift that had formed between him and his former sponsor. Cycles went by before he finally managed to catch Prowl on one of his rare, scheduled off duty cycles. Granted he’d only taken it when Prime had given him a direct order to but it was an opportunity Jazz wasn’t want to pass up. Things simply couldn’t last this way between them forever. “I’m actually wondering if this is the end,” Jazz smiled down at the black and white who was reading a datapad.

Prowl glanced up quizzically. “The end of what?”

“Everything,” Jazz’s grin grew wider. “You know with you actually taking a cycle off for once.”

“Ah,” Prowl sat up and placed his bookfile on the table with an indignant flick of his doorwings. “Another dig at my work ethic,” he murmured flatly.

“Nah, mech, nothing like that,” Jazz held up his hands in apology. “I was just wondering if I could join you?”

Prowl’s optics brightened and he glanced around the room. “Join me?”

Jazz laughed and sit down opposite Prowl with his own cube. “Yeah, I promise I don’t bite.” At Prowl’s ensuing silence, Jazz fidgeted with his cube slightly. “I can leave though, if you’d prefer?”

Prowl hesitated, then relaxed a little, removing the lenses from his face and placing them on the datapad. “No, your company would be welcome,” he offered the younger mech a small smile. “Forgive me, I’m not accustomed to anyone requesting to join me.”

Jazz’s smile returned and he nodded. “Probably too in shock at you being off duty to ask,” he quipped cheekily.

“Jazz…”

“Last one I swear,” he chuckled. Gazing into his cube he thought for a few kliks before looking up at the mech who had funded the entirety of his training and to him was still his sponsor, even though his responsibilities in that regard had ended once Jazz had become a ranked, paid officer.

“Something on your processor?” Prowl asked catching Jazz off guard.

Jazz shrugged. “You’ve been avoiding me,” he stated finally.

Silence resumed for a few more kliks until Jazz couldn’t bear it any longer. “I mean I get it, we fought, you disagreed with my going, I had everyone worried, I almost died, you’re mad, I get it Prowl, I do, but mech, ignoring me isn’t going to make all that un-- uh… happen, you know?”

Clasping his hands in his lap, Prowl looked down at them, his optics dimming. “I’m not mad,” he replied quietly.

“You’re not?” Jazz couldn’t keep the surprise out of his voice.

Shaking his helm slightly, Prowl sighed. “My behaviour towards you however has been… unfair, I apologise.”

“So you have been avoiding me?”

Giving a slight nod of his helm, Prowl gazed at him in earnest. “I thought it for the best,” he murmured in explanation, looking as unsure of himself as Jazz had ever seen him.

“Best for who? Me, you, the army?”

“Everyone.”

Jazz pulled a face. “That’s kind of a broad statement, you’re going to need to give me more than that, please?” he met Prowl’s steady gaze and waited as patiently as he could.

“There have been rumours…” Prowl started, glancing somewhat apprehensively around the room.

“Rumours?” Jazz prompted.

“That my interest and support of you has or rather is, bordering on the unprofessional.”

Jazz had heard whispers of the rumours and Ironhide had hinted that the reason for the fight between Obsidian and Prowl had involved him somehow but had refused to say anything more on the matter. He frowned as he processed the words and glanced down at his cube. “Are the rumours… true?” he asked hesitantly, optics peering up at Prowl, unseen from behind his visor.

Averting his optics, Prowl frowned deeply. He didn’t want to start lying to Jazz but also he didn’t things to be even more difficult for the mech. He had done enough in his life already, and not a lot for the better.

“Prowl?”

“...Yes.”

Jazz’s intakes stalled briefly at the admittance, spoken without looking at him, as though Prowl were ashamed of his own feelings. He started chuckling and shook his helm. “So the fight you had… what did Obsidian say about me?” he smirked up at Prowl, who looked affronted for a brief klik.

“He questioned your intelligence and ability,” he stated blandly.

“Come on, Prowl,” Jazz encouraged. “That wouldn’t have been enough to get you into a fight.”

Prowl clicked in exasperation mingled with embarrassment. “He suggested that you’d probably defected… so I punched him...” he muttered, doorwings quivering in that way Jazz recognised when he was trying not to show his annoyance.

He smiled and ducked his helm to take a few gulps of his energon. For a mech that seemed so in control of himself and confident in his position, he sure seemed lost when it came to his feelings and controlling them.

“How are your injuries, are you fully recovered?” Prowl asked quickly, eager to change the subject.

Jazz decided to indulge him before he tensed so much he strained something but he hadn’t forgotten. In fact as they continued to chat amicably, he kept mulling over Prowl’s words and the fact that the mech had physically fought to defend his honour. It was quite ridiculous really given how their paths had first crossed. That had been a lifetime ago for Jazz. In the comparatively short time he’d been a lieutenant, he’d changed, grown, carved a niche for himself. The mission and his survival had only cemented that change. There was still a lot he had left to learn but he also knew how to take better control of his life now and it appeared that he wasn’t the only one with a propensity towards emotional outbursts. That last thought had him smirking as Prowl talked to him about the data he’d recovered. He was only half listening. He was concentrating on something far more distracting and it was nearly time for him to go on his duty shift.

Prowl frowned as Jazz seemed to space out as they conversed. “Jazz? Are you alright? Do I need to get Ratchet?” he leaned forward slightly in concern, meeting Jazz’s optics with a slight dip of his helm. “Jazz?” The first sign of life was a smile spreading across Jazz’s face and then his hands reached across the table and cupped Prowl’s face and before the Praxian could process what was happening his mouth was being captured with a soft, chaste kiss. When it broke he simply stared in astonishment at the mech who still had hold of his face with both hands. “Jazz…?”

“Thanks… for standing up for me,” Jazz murmured softly with a warm smile, pressing a brief, light kiss to Prowl’s lips before leaving the table.

Prowl stared after him, bewildered and confused. Did this mean that Jazz returned his - highly inappropriate - feelings? Or was it some obscure Polyhexian custom to show gratitude, that he wasn’t aware of? When Jazz glanced back over his shoulder with a smile, Prowl sat back in his chair, slightly dazed but with a subtle smile on his face. Time would tell.

****

The young tactician gasped when the final data streams ended. They’d reached the end of the analysis of all the data Jazz had retrieved and had compiled it into workable knowledge. A great deal had proven useful in fending off growing Decepticon attacks in and around Iacon but the last streams of data had been extremely difficult to analyse and make sense of. Now this young tactician, a junior on Prowl’s team, knew why.

The mech sprinted as fast as he could through the corridors, weaving and ducking past mechs, ignoring shouts of annoyance as he barreled past. This wouldn’t wait for his report submission. If the data was accurate, they were already out of time.

****

Optimus nodded thoughtfully as Prowl filled everyone in on the latest attacks. Even Obsidian was in agreement that they needed to push the Decepticons back from their borders. His intel from the front lines told them that the ‘cons were getting bolder and their numbers around Iacon were growing. Everyone feared a larger attack on the capital soon.

Suddenly the doors burst open, interrupting Prime mid-sentence.

“Scanner, what is the meaning of this?” Prowl demanded curtly, out of his seat immediately as the mech panted, his optics bright, afraid.

“Commander, Sorry Sirs, Prowl this is urgent!” the mech struggled to get out, bending over double as his intakes heaved to cool him down.

Obsisidian snickered disdainfully. “Need a better hold on your staff, Prowl?”

Prowl ignored him and moved to the young mech’s side, placing a hand on his shoulder as he helped the mech upright and leaned in to listen to him as he whispered urgently in his audio.

The mechs around the table watched as Prowl frowned and shook his helm, turning his back to them as he murmured back at his young officer. The mech pulled back and nodded his helm firmly.

“Checked and re-checked, Sir… the information is accurate.”

Prowl stilled, his doorwings dropping obviously on his back as he slowly turned back to the table, his face a picture of stunned horror.

Obsidian’s smirk faded when he noticed Prowl’s hands were trembling. “Prowl… what is it?” he asked, his spark twisting in his chest. Despite his well known dislike for the Praxian, he respected the fact that nothing rattled the mech. Seeing him now sent a dagger of cold dread through his spark.

Prime stood as Prowl turned to face him, a frown etched on his forehelm. Something was very wrong. “Prowl..?”

Prowl’s voice was barely above a whisper. The normally steady, even tenor held a tremour of fear and disbelief. “Sir, it’s Praxus… the Decepticons are going for Praxus…”

The mechs around the table immediately, frantically got on their comms to respective contacts to mobilise their troops, with Ironhide cursing in anger that they’d been duped by the ruse of smaller coordinated attacks, kept focused on Iacon’s borders rather than the outlying cities, but Prime stood still as Prowl held his gaze.

He knew that look. It was the same desperate, defeated look he’d seen in Megatron’s optics when the council stripped him of his rank and exiled him from the city he loved and had lived in all his life. “We’re already too late…” he uttered as he watched his second sink dejectedly into the nearest chair.

****

The razing of Praxus was the largest scale attack the Decepticons had ever launched. The neutral, peaceful city hadn’t stood a chance and the few thousand Autobot soldiers that were stationed there had perished along with the three million civilians in what could only be described as a massacre.

All the Autobots, that had arrived from Iacon, could do, was watch as the city burned, shattered and ruined as the last of the Decepticons retreated. Their work here was done. Prime had mounted and was leading the rescue operation of any survivors. His spark was broken and ached with guilt for the innocent lives he had failed but his pain and that of the rest of his army was nothing compared to what Prowl and the junior lieutenant Smokescreen had to be feeling.

He glanced down at his second in command, stood steadfast, resolute beside him. “Old friend, you don’t need to be here, you don’t need to see this… I would understand if y--”

“--With all due respect, Sir,” Prowl interrupted firmly, his voice quiet, a sharp edge to it that had developed shortly after learning about the attack that they had had no chance to prevent. “But I do. Your orders, Sir?”

Optimus nodded and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Search and rescue. Find and treat as many survivors as we can,” he spoke to the entire army on a wide frequency. "We managed to get word to evacuate just before the attacks began, my sources estimate that one hundred and fifty Praxian civilians managed to escape.”

Jazz stared at the floor at that number that seemed to haunt him. It had been his intel that had saved those lives but it wasn’t enough, it would never be enough.

“The survivors who are capable and willing along with Prowl and Smokescreen will lead teams through the city, they know the area better than anyone, follow their instructions, be careful. We go when the acid rains have stopped,” Prime transformed and led the way down the valley towards the former city’s entrance.

****

Prowl was silent as he followed his leader. Upon reaching the entrance he transformed and walked past Optimus, Ironhide and Obsidian who were staring sadly at the devastation. They glanced at him as he walked past them slowly, doorwings trembling subtly as he stepped over the threshold and into what had once been the beautiful and world reknowned Crystal Gardens.

 

Thousands had flocked here every cycle to see the beautiful, magnificent crystals, nurtured and cared for by the city caretakers. They had been over a thousand vorns old and the city had been  built on great veins that ran just beneath the surface. History stated that nobody believed the city could be built and that living in the crystal fields was impossible but the first Praxians had proven them, had proven everyone wrong.

Now as Prowl stood in the middle of the blackened husks that remained. The ground littered with the greyed remains of the innocent, he felt the crushing weight of what their destruction really meant. It was all gone, everything, everyone he’d ever known. He could no longer feel his legs, they were numb, frozen to the spot as he felt his self control crumbling inside.

Then he felt the touch to his hand and the warmth of another enveloping it and holding it tightly. He glanced across at Jazz who simply stood beside him in silence, his face grim, his visor dark. As he met his gaze, they needed no words.

Their budding relationship since that first impulsive kiss had been progressing positively, albeit slowly - despite a few personality clashes along the way - and right at that moment as he felt Jazz squeeze his hand in silent, unconditional support and gaze wordlessly into his optics, Prowl found the strength to step forward into the city.

_Cause when you've given up._

_When no matter what you do it's never good enough._

_When you never thought that it could ever get this tough,_

_Thats when you feel my kind of love._

__


End file.
